


Interlude At Sea

by paxnirvana



Category: One Piece
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-01
Updated: 2011-04-30
Packaged: 2017-10-18 20:24:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/192937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paxnirvana/pseuds/paxnirvana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Habit can be a dangerous thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He is sitting in his chair on deck enjoying his third cup of coffee and the day old newspaper delivered by bird just last night when the alarm cry goes up. The lookout is new and excitable. Smoker doesn't move except to turn to the next page, listening to the way another sailor silences the lad with an urgent, if hushed, explanation that he can still hear.

"Shut it! It's the Captain's own, you fool." Then the more experienced man dutifully cancels the beginnings of response below with the louder cry, "Stand down! False alarm!"

His brows lower in a brief scowl, but he doesn't snap at the sailors. The rest of his men return to their duties, ignoring the aborted alert with only minor grumbling and a few whispered comments — keeping the ship on course, not slowing at all — but the area around Smoker's chair does clear out a bit more than strictly necessary. He sets his cigars down in the ashtray, letting a slow plume of smoke trickle out his mouth. It takes only a minute before a heavy thump lifts his gaze off his paper toward the railing.

Portgas, of course. Crouched there like some jungle cat, one hand bracing his hat on his head after the leap from below, the other holding a rope. He bends down and loops the line around the railing, knotting it there neatly. It leads to his logia-powered skiff, of course.

"Good morning to you, Taisa," the overly cheerful voice says, accompanied by a broad smile as the dark gaze lifts again to meet his once that task is done. "Oi, is that coffee I smell?"

"What the hell are you doing here, brat?" Smoker says, not lowering his paper. His jacket with jitte is hanging from the back of his chair, but he makes no move toward the weapon.

His uninvited guest slips off the railing with a laugh, sauntering across the deck toward him. The young man's tan, bare chest gleams in the morning light as he moves in a ripple of lean muscle. The black shorts still hang far too low on those narrow hips despite the heavy belt, Smoker notes with annoyance. "Saw your sail," Ace says with a shrug, smile widening slightly.

Smoker frowns, rustling his paper impatiently, but keeps his gaze fixed on the approaching man. "And for some reason you approached a Marine sail rather than ran like a pirate should. Idiot."

"I saw _your_ sail," Ace says, dropping into the extra chair on the other side of the small table from Smoker with easy grace, the grin on his face still bright and wide and reckless. Then he glances down, and his eyes light up almost childishly. "Oh, food! Haven't eaten for almost a day now..."

"So you just decided to stop by to eat my breakfast?" Smoker says acidly as Ace snatches up one of the untouched pastries from the plate there and stuffs it in his mouth. After biting off a piece, the boy pulls the rest out of his mouth, mumbling around the mouthful, "Hey, these are good! You should have one, old man." He notices the other condiments set on the tray then and reaches eagerly for a small knife. Smoker watches him layer butter and honey thick on the scone before devouring the rest of it in two more bites. The pirate chews energetically as he reaches for another and Smoker frowns.

Watching the pirate stuff himself on his food is pointless. But he won't get sense out of him until he eats, he knows. So Smoker returns to his paper, rustling it again as he tries to recapture his interest in the article he had been reading on recent flourishing trade route developments between Arabasta and Drum Island. Two islands that had little contact before a certain small caravel stopped at both, he has already noted. And that was pretty much all the interest he had in it too. His eyes skim the two pages for something else to read.

His attention is drawn away sharply by a sudden clattering crash. He looks over to see Portgas slumped sideways against the arm of his chair, dead asleep, butter-smeared scone dangling from one hand, legs sprawled open carelessly.

Smoker narrows his gaze on the boy, raking it over the lean body from boots to chest to hat, then checks to be sure he's not choking on his food. He isn't but the way he's lying, with food-filled mouth partly open, is quite disgusting. Smoker gives up on reading with a grunt of annoyance and folds his paper. Setting it aside, he lowers his foot from where it was propped on the opposite knee and reaches for his cigars. He sticks them in his mouth, chewing on the ends absently. Portgas doesn't move. After a moment, he hears a soft snore emit from the chair beside him.

Waiting for the brat to wake up is even more boring and pointless, Smoker decides and rises to his feet. He walks over to the other chair and grabs the other man's arm. He lifts him out of the  
chair, slinging the slack body over his shoulder with ease. The half-eaten scone falls out of a limp hand and rolls across the deck, but Ace doesn't wake up.

Tashigi is standing open-mouthed at the base of the steps to the forecastle as Smoker comes down them. He nods to her as he passes, Ace's limp arms dangling down his back, slack hands brushing against his hips.

"I'll be in my cabin until further notice," Smoker says to her around the cigars in his mouth. Then he pauses, looks over the bulge of his arm where it's wrapped across Ace's thighs at her sharply. "And make sure his damn skiff is secured properly — I don't want it scraping the hull again."

"Y-yes sir," is all she says, blinking and pushing her glasses further up her nose as he carries Portgas away.

\--end--


	2. Interlude At Sea Deux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Habit can be a dangerous thing.

Smoker enters his cabin and locks the door behind him, adjusting the pirate's slack weight on his shoulder with a small grunt. Portgas is still asleep. Or so the soft snores coming from the vicinity of his belt line would indicate.

He stubs out his cigars in the ashtray on his desk, then crosses the width of his cabin in three strides. Not even lowering the slack body to his berth with a small bounce wakes the boy up. Neither does stripping off boots, hat, and beads (how he hates those beads — always in his way). But when his hands close on the heavy belt and tug it free, the other starts suddenly and dark eyes open wide.

"Eh? Here already?" Ace says, glancing around and chewing on the last of his food again. How he manages to keep food in his mouth and not choke on it while sleeping — or breathe it in when he falls face-first into it — is a continual source of amazement to Smoker. Ace swallows at last and Smoker watches the motion intently. "I wasn't done eating, you know," the boy says eyeing him sidelong.

Smoker snorts at the complaint as he drags the low-slung shorts free of slim hips and tosses them aside, leaving the pirate completely naked on his bed. "You can eat later." Bracing one knee on the mattress, Smoker leans in and presses down on the boy's far hip with one hand, bends lower and takes the half-filled erection lying on the boy's tight stomach into his mouth. Ace cries out and two hands swiftly rise up to tangle their fingers deep in Smoker's hair.

The pirate tastes of brine and fire and his own unique musk. The cock hardens all the way in Smoker's mouth with a surge as more gasps and moans fill the room. He holds down the boy's hips as he sucks on warm firm flesh hungrily.

"Oh god oh fuck oh yes," Ace says, writhing beneath him.

It's been far too long since he last had the boy like this, Smoker thinks. Weeks without word or sign, this time. He runs his free hand up the lean chest, pausing for a moment at a flat nipple to tease it to hardness. Ace writhes and chokes out his name in a way that makes Smoker's already tight pants feel nearly uncomfortable. He takes the boy's cock deeper into his mouth, sucking harder, tasting the slick-salt flavor of pre-come along his tongue. He has to use strength to keep the boy's hips down now, leaning in. Every part of the boy reacts to him with abandon; the nipple hard between his fingers now as he plucks at it. Always has. That is one of the things that made this inevitable, he has come to realize.

Some things are simply meant to be; Ace doubly so.

He leaves the peaked nipple behind to run his hand up to the pirate's neck. Finds the taut column and wraps his fingers behind it, cradling it, thumb riding over the arch of Adam's apple and racing pulse.

He can feel the vibrations when Ace cries his name this way. Savors them when he sucks harder on the boy's cock, lips tight. Notes the change in tone to low whimpers when he lets it slip back enough to tongue the slit, circle the head before he takes it deep again.

One hand has left his hair to claw at his shoulder, his back. Ace is gripping him, dragging at him urgently. He shifts his other hand in to cup the boy's balls, rumbling low in his throat around the head of the boy's cock and Ace arches up with a shout, body quivering like a bow, hips thrusting wildly as he comes in a sudden hot, salty surge into Smoker's mouth.

Smoker swallows the spill easily. Follows the boy back down to the mattress when he collapses there flat, spent and trembling. He finally releases the boy's cock with a soft pop, then surges up to cover the open mouth with his own, shoving his tongue deep into wet heat. Shares the boy's own taste with him; salty and sharp. Ace moans and shifts beneath him, thighs spreading wider and wrapping nimbly around Smoker's jeans-covered hips.

He grinds into the boy for a moment, but quickly grows frustrated by the barrier between them. Breaks the kiss abruptly, needing breath. He sucks in air as he stares into Portgas' face from only a hair's breadth away, taking in the flushed cheeks beneath scattered freckles, the open, reddened mouth, the half-lidded eyes smoldering with sated heat.

"Wow. Missed me, did you, Taisa?" the pirate brat says in a smug, throaty purr as his hands scrape slowly down Smoker's back, pressing them closer.

"Be quiet. I'm not done with you yet, brat," he growls and reaches up past the tumbled black hair spread over his pillow into the cubby at the head of his berth. He fumbles around a moment searching by touch alone for the bottle he keeps there all the time now. Finds it and tosses it down onto the bed beside them. Ace grins wider, dark eyes flaring.

"I didn't think you liked me to be quiet..." the brat teases, hands drifting down to knead at Smoker's butt. Smoker closes the other's mouth with his own again, drinking down the sounds of amusement the boy makes before he pulls away again, leaving both of them panting this time. He lifts himself off the other, shifting his hips back so that Ace's legs slip down to circle his thighs instead of his hips. His cock is aching now, trapped beneath his pants, soaking a spot on the heavy fabric through with the urgency of his need.

"Make yourself useful, Portgas," Smoker says harshly. Ace laughs again, gaze searing. But he reaches obediently for Smoker's belt, tugging it free as Smoker watches impatiently, hands braced to either side of the pirate's shoulders.

The belt falls open quickly beneath clever fingers, the button and zipper following soon after. Ace spreads the fly of his pants wide, chewing on his lower lip slightly in his concentration. Smoker briefly curses the fact that he wears underwear at all, but acknowledges that it is because of this damn pirate brat that he has shifted to wearing boxers instead simply for how they offer less obstruction. A benefit proven by how Ace's hand slides easily beneath the loose waistband, finding his shaft beneath without hesitation.

Smoker releases a groan of his own, letting his head drop beside Ace's, breath washing hot across the boy's temple and into his hair as the pirate strokes him, spreading his own slick pre-come over his cock thoroughly. The boy's touch is hot and firm. And if his control wasn't iron, Smoker would have come from that first sure touch alone. Damn it. His control is still iron, yet the boy's fire is slowly melting it with each long, skilled stroke. Or is it his own need for the boy doing that? Either way, he wants more. Now. And there is no reason to wait any longer. "Get the bottle," Smoker orders gruffly.

Smiling wickedly—as if he smiles in any other way—Ace reaches across himself with his free hand to retrieve it from the bed beside him. Smoker pushes himself up on one hand to take it from him, bending down to lip and nip at the boy's jaw after he does. Ace tilts his head back and groans, rubbing a thumb hard over the taut head of Smoker's cock in response. The room is warm and faintly smoky around them, but neither has manifested their logia power directly. It has become an unspoken challenge between them to see who holds out longest. Oddly enough, Smoker remembers, they are evenly matched in that regard.

The boy's legs are wrapped loosely around Smoker's thighs, his own thighs spread open beneath Smoker's hips, cock already more than half hard again in the resilience of youth. Or maybe it's Smoker's urgency speeding his recovery. It doesn't really matter. The glass bottle of lotion is cool in his hand for a moment and he knows the contents will be cool as well. Thumbing the cork free to dangle on its retaining string, he spills some of the thin, slippery stuff over Ace's hand where it grips his cock, absorbing the boy's sudden gasp with his mouth as the excess drips cool onto his inner thighs below.

Ace's hand quickly warms the stuff on Smoker's cock, sparing him the chill as it spreads it — slick and wet and squishing — over him. Somehow, as their tongues tangle, Smoker manages to fumble the cork back into the bottle so that it won't spill everywhere and be wasted. Then he tosses the bottle aside and reaches down to spread the extra on Ace's thighs down toward the inner curve of his ass with single-minded intent.

The boy cries out into his mouth again, loudly, arching up when he finds the hole and probes it. Slippery stuff warmed now after passing over Ace's skin, he pushes two broad fingers inside without hesitation, driving through the clench and quiver of muscle relentlessly. He knows the boy can take it as he pushes his fingers deep. Knows the boy wants it like this. He's had him beg him for it far too many times before to doubt now.

He'd be begging for it now, Smoker knows, if he wasn't kissing him like this, stopping up his mouth. But he can't stop tasting the boy. Can't get enough of heated tongue and lips and slick inner flesh.

Ace's hand on his cock is clenching tight around the base now, angling him down. Eager. The boy's other hand is dragging Smoker's pants open wider, shoving his boxers down beneath his balls to get them out of the way. The added pressure makes him struggle briefly with his control, but he wins. Mostly because the legs looped around his thighs are pressing him forward now too, urging him on toward the goal they both desire. The head of his cock brushes heated thigh, slides across slickness. Smoker reluctantly breaks his mouth's devouring lock on the boy's to let them both gasp for air again, burying his face in the boy's hair beside his neck as he pulls his fingers carefully free.

Ace makes a desperate, inarticulate sound, head arching back. "Put me in you," Smoker orders between his own harsh gasps. Ace is trembling faintly as Smoker lets the boy's hand guide him the rest of the way down, feels Ace's other hand fumble between them, lifting tight balls needlessly out of the way as shaking fingers bracket his own hole.

"Oh god oh god need you old man inside me inside get inside..." The boy is babbling; the husky, desperate words running together into background noise as Smoker feels puckered flesh spasm beneath his cock head. Ace's hand tugs on his shaft, trying to drive him in faster. Smoker holds back, pressing forward slowly. Waiting for the flesh to part on its own and let him in as he fastens his mouth on the sweat-damp skin beneath Ace's ear.

His back rounds as he struggles to control himself. He wants to shove in, but won't. Yet. He wants the body beneath his to surrender. To give up. Open. Take him in.

Panting gasps wash across his own skin, his shoulder, almost searingly hot. The boy is near flashing to fire, but not there yet. His smoke answers within, roiling, but obeys his control. For the moment.

Then flesh gives in a heated pulse and he pushes in further, cockhead popping inside. Ace lets go of him at last with a wail, slippery hands reaching up and scrabbling at Smoker's lower back as he attempts to push down as if he can force him deeper, faster. "Easy, easy, boy," Smoker murmurs, dropping down to elbows bracketed around the dark head, covering him utterly even as he holds himself back. But still Ace writhes and moans, unstoppable, needing. The lean, sweat-slicked body arches, legs gripping him tight and his control shatters. He plunges deep, filling him utterly in one move.

Ace is blazingly hot, incredibly tight, surrounding him with slick, glorious pressure. He has to pause or come instantly, struggling for control, breath whistling desperately through clenched teeth. It has been too long since he's had Ace beneath him like this his body nearly proves. Far too long. Weeks... days... hours too long.

But now his pirate boy is like liquid fire against him, shifting, rising up, moving. Hands claw at his back. Legs tighten around him. Ace's lips press urgently to his shoulder, his throat, beneath his chin, hints of teeth appearing occasionally behind them. Smoker moves. Drawing out and driving back in one easy motion. Filling. Emptying. Filling. The sounds Ace makes then are expressions of pure pleasure alone and even though the sounds contain choked-out words, they make no sense. Or is it he wants them to make no sense?

But it doesn't matter. Soon all Smoker knows is motion. Losing himself in the way their flesh drives, thrusts, grinds so perfectly together. Heat and smoke and the slickness of their bodies becomes inseparable. They are bound together almost like one being, bent on reaching pleasure and release and some undefined more with the other. Rising. Spiraling. Higher. Faster. Deeper.

It cannot last. But it ends suddenly as Ace comes again with a wailing cry, spurting steaming-hot come between their clashing bellies as he arches wildly. Smoker bites back a guttural cry of his own almost instantly in response. Sparks and fire dance beneath closed lids as he is caught up in the wave-like clenching of Ace's body. Smoker drives in one last time — as far as flesh will allow — before he quakes and throbs out his own release in half a dozen short, pulsing bursts.

He holds above the boy for a minute, tries to gather his strength as sweat drips off him onto the other below. Both of them are breathing like bellows, their pulses racing. He can feel Ace's from the inside. It's a heady feeling. Finally he shifts with a low groan, rolling onto his side first, then all the way over to his back, bringing the boy with him. They are still connected when he starts, but not when he finishes.

Ace hisses and Smoker winces as he reluctantly slides free. But physiology won't allow them to stay connected like this anyway once he is spent, experience has shown. They are both still sticky and slick but he is too relaxed at the moment to bother to clean up; not that the brat will care at all, he knows. As they settle, Ace drapes himself across Smoker, limbs sprawling wildly, body almost melting over his as if boneless. A flushed face burrows into the hollow of Smoker's throat so that the wash of slowing breaths warms his skin.

The limp weight of the boy — as always — feels surprisingly appropriate atop him. Frowning, he cups the back of the dark head in one hand, and lets those fingers tangle deep in disheveled hair. The other arm wraps around ribs, palm spreading wide in the small of the other's back to hold him steady atop him.

Silence falls between them, thick and still. If the boy were asleep already, it wouldn't surprise him at all. He lets himself begin to drift off, eyes closing.

Then, "I come to see you again and you kill me with sex," the boy says. "I'm dead."

"Hardly," Smoker answers gruffly, tone muted, "since you're still yapping at me."

"Then this's my ghost talkin'. Eew." There is a soft, distinctly sleepy laugh. The boy's hand tightens around his neck as he nuzzles his face closer to Smoker's throat. "Mmm... meant what I said, b'fore... really missed you, old man." The words are soft and breathy. Barely heard. But harder to ignore than the broken words said during.

"Shut up and go to sleep already, brat," Smoker says, eyes springing open again. He stares at the shifting patterns of light on the ceiling that are reflections off the waves outside angling through the open porthole at the foot of his berth.

The reflections almost look like fire. Ace sighs and goes even more limp against him. And finally there is no sound in the cabin save the rush of water past the hull outside and the throb of his own pulse in his ears.

\--end--


End file.
